


A Wrong Turn On The Right Map

by Trojie



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-29
Updated: 2010-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:39:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something, somewhere, has gone horribly wrong ... (mild D/s)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wrong Turn On The Right Map

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galaxy_song](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=galaxy_song).



> Pinch-hit Merlin_Santa gift for galaxy_song. They asked for _'Uther and Merlin get stuck somewhere?'_ and said Merlin/Uther, Merlin/Arthur etc were all acceptable. Many thanks to Bridget for being an ideas-sounder/generator.

You ever have that feeling, that what you're doing is something you have to do? That there can't ever be a question?

You ever have that feeling you're watching yourself from somewhere far away?

Merlin gets that all the time, actually - the world flowing like slow-motion syrup around him and he just does what he has to do to keep it turning. He's used to not questioning his instincts.

This is a corridor Merlin's certain he's never walked before, but it seems so familiar. Or at least, being here seems right.

He has to knock at this door. He _has_ to.

And it's completely normal and right, that Uther is on the other side, that he smiles slow and filthy at Merlin, and beckons him in, that Merlin enters.

Merlin-to-the-left-of-the-sky, the watching Merlin, screams at Merlin-on-the-ground - _what are you doing?_ \- but there's no question that Uther should be undressed by Merlin's hands.

There's no question. This is normal. Merlin wants this.

Uther bears Merlin to the bed, parts his clothes, mouths him hot and hungry. Uther likes power, likes this dominance, because he's used to dominance, but he knows what he owes to those who share his bed, and he is considerate.

He brooks no arguments, though, and Merlin makes none. Why would he, when he cannot help but arch and moan, breath streaming fitfully through his lungs and out into the world, breezing up where the watching Merlin, left of the sky and out of his mind, is the only person, in the entire world, still questioning. _Something is out of place here._

But it all seems so normal.

He serves his king. Always.

'Are you awake?'

'Mmmm?'

A hand closes around Merlin, there is a hot presence at his back, and he's sure that Uther had not even taken the time to settle them _in_ the bed before beginning this evening, so what is-

'I said, are you awake?' And the voice is that familiar purr, smug and honeyed, but higher, ungravelled by age ...

Arthur noses behind Merlin's ear while he strokes him in that proprietory way he has. 'Must have been a good dream,' he teases. 'About me?'

Merlin comes fully awake at that, and nearly fallls out of the bed. Arthur catches him before he manages to drop all the way to the floor though, one hand fisted tight in Merlin's nightshirt, probably in the damp spot from - oh God, Merlin is mortified. He's never been so mortified in his _life_-

'What's the matter with you all of a sudden?' Arthur asks as he hauls Merlin back into the bed. 'I was under the impression we were having a nice time.'

Merlin is amazed Arthur isn't getting burnt by the sheer power of his blush. He feels he should be lighting candles across the other side of the room with it.

'No, no,' he tries, then changes tack at Arthur's expression, 'I mean, we _were_, it was nice, but ... you ... startled me?'

'I startled you.'

'Yes?'

'By murmuring sweet nothings in your ear and giving you some gracious attention, I startled you.'

'...'

'Merlin, if you're actually a girl, now would be a good time to mention it. I mean, I realise I probably should have noticed some time in the past couple of months, but who knows, I've not had any medical training, it's certainly not impossible that you could be a girl and I'm imagining your-'

'No! Not a girl, not a girl, I promise!'

'-although why I'd choose to imagine _that_ when I could have a nice set of-'

'For God's sake, Arthur!'

'Oh, I've offended your maidenly sensibilities. I do apologise.' Arthur must sense he's on that fine line between 'endearingly irritating' and 'so exasperating he's not worth bedding', because he lies back down and pulls Merlin with him, reaching under the nightshirt once more to where Merlin, embarrassingly, hasn't lost the evidence of his dream. 'Come on, tell me all about the nice dream that's got you so worked up,' he says warmly. Merlin can feel he's worked up as well, pressed up against Merlin's backside.

'...no,' says Merlin. 'You really don't want to know.'

'Oh, I think I _do_,' says Arthur, slowing the motion of his hand. He does this far too often, the swine, like he really enjoys the slow, soft torture he puts Merlin through. It's his favourite way to get Merlin talking, because he knows it drives him mad.

'No, you really, really don't,' Merlin gulps, trying not to remember that slow and torturous and _controlled_ was how Uther-in-the-dream was going at it as well. Clearly Merlin's subconscious has figured out what he likes even if it hasn't quite twigged who he likes it _from_ properly. Obviously he has too much to think about during the day these days and his subconscious is just confused. It's on the blink. Maybe Gaius has a brain tonic or something he can take.

'If you don't tell me, I'll stop,' says Arthur, his evil grin audible in his voice, and he will, Merlin knows he will, because he's a prat and a clotpoll and an _utter utter bastard_.

'Nnnngh,' Merlin says.

Arthur takes his hand away.

'No, Arthur, please-'

'Story first, if you please.'

'You''ll hate me,' Merlin mutters, broken. He really really needs that hand back. If he can just get through this he can surely think of a story to tell Arthur that won't lead to him having to burn his own ears off and leave Camelot with a deaf Crown Prince and someday-King. But he can't do that when his brain is a mess of lust-addled porridge. He starts to edge his own hand down only to have Arthur grab his wrist.

'So I take it I did not have a starring role then,' Arthur says, sounding amused. 'Don't worry Merlin, you can tell me. Was it Lancelot? Let me guess, he was taking you in a manly fashion amongst the haybales in the stables? I can see it now, you on your knees, Lancelot behind you-' Arthur is sounding far too interested in this scenario. Merlin will never be able to look Lancelot in the face again.

'No,' Merlin manages.

'Not Lancelot then. Hmm. Morgana? I always did suspect you had a-'

'No!'

'Surely not innocent little Guinevere?'

'_No!_' Merlin tries willing his erection down. It is not going to give in without a fight. Merlin decides he's really far too turned on by people bossing him around and that it's a character flaw he should work on.

Arthur replaces his hand, but doesn't move it. He leans in closer, breathing hot in Merlin's ear. 'Tell me,' he says, and that tone of voice _does_ things to Merlin, and Arthur knows it all too well.

'The- the king,' Merlin groans, hips stuttering and providing at least some blessed friction. 'Your father...'

There is complete and total silence from Arthur. Then his hand starts moving again, and Merlin almost whimpers with relief.

'Oh _really_,' says Arthur, darkly amused. 'That's interesting.'

'I'm sorry-' Merlin starts, but he's cut off.

'No, don't be sorry. What was it, Merlin? Did you dream he ordered you? I know you like that, although you pretend you don't-' Arthur's hand moves like a metronome, he pushes himself forward to slide between Merlin's thighs and buttocks in counterpoint. 'Did you dream you were his servant? After all, that's how we started, with your clumsy hands slipping. Remember?'

Merlin remembers, remembers being afraid he was about to have his clumsy hands _chopped off_ before Arthur grabbed him with fierce triumph writ large on his face.

'I'm not angry,' Arthur says, dangerous and hot in Merlin's ear, and that's exactly how he sounded the first night as welll. 'After all, one day I will be your king.'

'You are my king,' Merlin tries to say, but it comes out _y'RE m'kin'_, slurred. He hopes the sentiment gets itself across.

'Right now I am your prince,' Arthur corrects him, and God, Merlin is right at the edge, right there, right _there_ and please, Arthur- 'But one day I will be your king.' One last slide, one last push and twist and 'I hope that when that day comes, your devotion to the throne will still be this fervent-'

And Merlin is gone into the screaming undreamlike white, over the edge, where he is sure no-one else, King or not, could ever take him.


End file.
